It should have been expected
by SeverusLuciusAbraxasMalfoy
Summary: Things change, and so do people. It should have been expected. It shouldn't have been this way. But it is.
1. This is an easy job

Look at them. Not so high and mighty now, are they? Robes encrusted in filth, faces marred with bruises, and him – his once prided hair now matted and tarnished to a dirty brown.

It takes all my might not to break into a smug grin.

And yet, there is still haughtiness in their stance, aplomb in their posture.

As if they hadn't spent the last few days in an unclean holding cell like common rabble.

"You are all aware why you have been brought before me." It's a statement, not a question. I couldn't be bothered to worry if they had been told, or not. I know what they deserve.

Malfoy sneers at me, and I find special relish in the wince that follows; a cut lip doesn't make it any easier on his pasty face.

I let a little smirk bleed through, and take satisfaction in the mild fear that flashes through Parkinson's eyes. She bows her head and Malfoy hisses something in her ear that snaps her head up and back into position.

Still following his orders, I see.

"Do you have anyone who will defend your case?" I know for a fact that this is a closed trial. Only someone in the higher echelons can do anything that might influence my decision.

Of course I have already made my decision. These inbred murderers need nothing more than a long stay in isolation. Think over their actions for a while, maybe.

If they stayed sane long enough.

I want to tell them how I really feel – wanted to gloat – not so rosy now, is there? The only blood that will be of any essence is that which will bleed from your fingers as you try and claw your way to freedom – one way or another.

I want them to realize that it was they who spilled so much blood; so many dead, so many who would never be whole again.

All for the sake of blood.

If it is blood they want, this time, it will have to be their own. No more; no more will the side of the light bleed for them.

Now they will bleed for the side of the light.

I paste an especially sunny look on my face, as if I were sending my favorite pupils off to a picnic in the meadows.

It unnerves all of them, and I relish the moment.

"For the crimes committed in the name of the Dark Lord Voldemort," I wait for the customary flinch, and proceed, "you will be sentenced to 17 years of isolation at Azkaban." My tone is almost pleasant, as if I were speaking of the sunny weather that had arrived with the death of that overgrown rodent.

He – who – is – rotting – in – a – paddock – somewhere*. I mentally snort. Ron had the most inventive names. Ron, I wonder if he'll be free for lunch today.

Their faces register shock, and fear. Ah, so they've heard of the _improvements_ made at the prison, have they? Perhaps there are no dementors, but credit is due for creativity of the human mind.

Their beloved _mentor _ is not around to help them now. I'm sure he's pacing around in his dungeons or outside the courtroom, trying to free his precious Slytherins. It won't happen, not before they've had a good dose of the prison at least.

It takes weeks to appeal and get another hearing.

The courts are overrun with cases; the ministry wants everything cleaned out, as soon as possible.

It took a good bloody half year to find this filth; I'll be damned if they don't get a taste of the cruelty they have doled out.

The charms – if you can call them that – on the new prison were pure genius, even if she said so herself. It had taken her months to get it right, but judging from the shock on the Wizengamot's faces when it was demonstrated to them... well it was a mark that the spells worked.

It was all too much for Parkinson, I suppose. She crumples into a heap on the floor and sobs emerge. No amount of talking gets her to put on a brave mask.

17 years. One for each of the Order members and students who had died defending the castle till Harry had fulfilled his destiny.

Harry.

Poor sweet Harry. I wish he were alive to see this.

He might not recognize you, a small voice tells me, and I stomp it out. The Death Eaters and their offspring deserved it.

I bang the gavel and move onto the next case. Malfoy gives me one murderous glare and I respond with a smirk of my own. I wriggle my fingers in his direction, in a parody of friendship.

Goodbye, Draco. Keep well.

I stifle the urge to laugh maniacally, and watch expressionlessly as the next prisoners are brought in for their sentence.

This is an easy job.

* * *

*Taken from a story I read on . I cannot remember where from; I like the statement.


	2. Perhaps it is not a bad idea

"A moment of your time, Ms. Granger."

"Of course, Minister. How can I help you?"

The minister gestured for her to follow. Hermione looked at the stack of files floating behind her and shrugged. Those could wait a while. She obediently followed the minister, while her files floated behind.

Once ensconced in the minister's office, Hermione set the pile on a relatively uncluttered portion of the desk, and looked expectantly at the Minister of Magic.

"More research?"

"Yes, Minister."

"What about, if I may ask?"

"Oh, just the standard things," she waved airily, "counter-curses, charms, the lot."

Arthur chuckled nervously and Hermione tapped her foot impatiently.

Seeming to gather his wits, Arthur Weasley drew a breath and exhaled loudly. "I was wondering if I may ask a favour of you."

"Of course, although I may or may not oblige."

Arthur stared at her; a year ago, he would have been surprised at her; the old Hermione would have agreed to anything. It was no surprise they had all grown up.

Too soon, he knew. Too soon.

"Naturally," he gave her a tentative smile. Hermione remained expressionless. It was unnerving.

"Well, anyway," he sat a little straighter, "as you know, the Wizengamot is hard put to try all the cases presented before it."

She nodded and raised her eyebrows in polite interest.

"Many cases are of course, simple to handle, while there are those which require careful consideration."

"I don't see why."

Arthur frowned in confusion, "I beg your pardon?"

Hermione sighed, "I don't see why any cases require careful consideration. Isn't veritaserum being used?"

"Yes, of course, it's standard procedure at the hearings."

"Then I don't see why you can't ask the right questions and deal with it."

Arthur's frown deepened, "what do you mean?"

"They're all Death Eaters, Minister, except for Professor Snape."

"You are that certain?"

"I am."

Arthur clenched his fist and shook his head, "it's not that simple Hermione."

She shrugged and looked non-committal. Arthur had to re-think the decision he had made this morning. He was hoping to rely on Hermione's sense of fair play, but he had grossly underestimated the effect the war had had on her. It was unnatural!

"Hermione…"

"With all due respect, Minister, if there is nothing important to be discussed, I have a lot of work to do."

"I'm sure you do, Ms. Granger, but do spare me another ten minutes or so. There is a matter of importance to be discussed and settled here."

She sat back and looked expectantly at him. Arthur was getting rather flustered. How exactly had he missed this transition? But that thought was for later.

"I want you to handle some of the lower-rung cases."

"Why?"

Arthur opened his mouth to answer, but thought better of it. She had just vocalized her insensitivity toward the Death Eaters; fair play was laughable.

Hermione raised her eyebrow and stared at him. Arthur tugged at his cuffs and thought for a moment. "Because you're efficient."

"Because I'm efficient."

Arthur nodded, and hurried on, "Ron's helping out too. Four courts have been set up. You'll meet the team later."

"I haven't agreed yet."

Arthur's anger threatened to surface; if she was anyone but Hermione, he would have had no hesitation in putting her back in place – but she was too valuable.

"Most of these cases are pertaining to the younger generation," he paused, "we thought that having peers decide would be … more appropriate."

She snorted, "I've all but said that I would be unsympathetic. What makes you think having me judge them is appropriate?"

"Ms. Granger! Surely you still are able to understand that some of these were children, under a lot of pressure!"

"So was Harry," she hissed, "but he's not here, is he? So were we, but we turned out fine, didn't we?"

"But…"

"Minister," she sighed, slumping in her chair, "If you want me to do the job, I'll do it, but I will not be questioned on my judgment. If they don't like it, they can re-appeal or have it re-tried. I will not bow to pressure from the outside."

Arthur considered it for a moment and then nodded, "Agreed, but you must also swear to pass what judgment you think is fair, and you cannot take this job lightly. Hermione," he paused, "understand that you will be responsible for their lives, and I hope that my faith in your abilities is not misplaced."

"I understand, Minister," she replied, and made to rise, "if there is nothing else?"

"For now, no. I'll send you the rest of the details once the committee membership is closed. We're calling it the 'Fast Track Courts'."

"Fitting," was all Hermione said before leaving the chambers.

Arthur heaved a sigh, and hoped that he had not made a mistake with this one. Maybe it was good for Hermione to do this; she could certainly stand to see things as they stand outside of her little world. If his opinion of her seemed harsh, it was with reason. Everyone did things in the war, and saw things that they wished they could undo, but it never worked out that way.

Hermione was being rather naïve in thinking it was only one side that incurred losses. Perhaps this was not entirely a bad idea.


	3. Will you do the honours or shall I?

"This is absurd Arthur! The son has a longer sentence than the Father! It's unbelievable!"

"Calm Down! I am aware of the fact. The case can be re-tried."

"Not for another five weeks at least! The boy will be barking by then!"

"There is nothing I can do."

"Yes there is," was the hissed reply, "you can do a great many things as Minister."

"I cannot. If for one, then everyone, and that cannot be wise."

"It's absurd!" Snape slammed his palms on the Minister's desk, "she's being completely unreasonable. Seventeen years! The boy is barely 18!"

"Who had attempted to take the life of Albus, several times."

"Because he was being threatened!"

"Stop shouting Severus, or I'll have to ask you to leave. This is highly inappropriate behaviour!"

"And she is being entirely appropriate? It's as bad as the marauders! Her prejudice excels theirs!"

"It's an incomparable thing, Severus. She is not always this harsh."

"No, of course not," Severus said in silky tones, "only against those she had personal vendetta against."

"Severus!"

"It's true," Snape hissed and drew himself up, "if you refuse to talk to her, bring her to her senses, perhaps, I will have to do it for you."

"Severus…"

"Enough!" Severus thundered and took a moment to compose himself. Gryffindor mentality; he should have expected this. Pathetic excuses for covering up the deeds of favorites. Just like Albus.

True, the thought of Albus stung, but he was far from saintly. Severus drew a breath, "I will not stand by and watch her destroy every thing I worked for … we worked for. Have you no idea what will happen should it get out? Once again we will be ostracizing people based on their past. Surely you, of all people, should know where that will lead!"

"I know, Severus, I tried to speak with her, but she merely justifies her actions."

"Then remove her from the post!"

"I cannot!" Arthur yelled, and then calmed down. He looked into Severus' mutinous expression and sighed. This was a good one. "She's not done anything illegal. Removing her from the post requires a full vote from the Wizengamot, and you know how that will turn out."

"Unbelievable," Severus breathed and looked at Arthur, who cringed at the disappointment plainly expressed. "Weak willed and prejudiced. How different is this from The Dark Lord's flock?"

"Severus!" Arthur was on his feet in an instant, "Do curb your words!"

"The truth is always hard to swallow, Minister," Severus sneered at him and turned to leave.

One hand on the doorknob, he turned partially and regarded the flushed Minister of Magic. Pathetic, he thought, and slammed the door behind him.

Not for the first time in his life, he wondered what he had fought for. What had he achieved? All his years wasted to see an equally useless and jaundiced reign. He sighed and leaned against the wall of a deserted corridor.

He stood there and contemplated the future of so many promising minds. If he had heard correctly of the spell now employed at Azkaban, Draco and the rest of the convicted wouldn't last two days.

He banged his head against the wall a few times. How would he do this? He had to talk to the Granger woman; there was nothing else to do. Would he ever stop fighting someone else's battles? Would he ever have a moment's peace?

One would think that with the death of that snake – faced bastard, he would have had the rest he deserved. Not that he had expected to survive, of course. Only his intimate knowledge of the depravity of the Dark Lord's mind had given him a tiny window of opportunity to prepare himself.

He shuddered and pulled at his collar. The marks would never heal, he knew. Nagini, whose body was imbued with so much dark magic, had left something to remember her by.

He pushed himself off of the wall and continued on his way to the woman's office. True it was late, but she was known to work overtime. He mentally snorted; just like in school, the little overachiever.

It was rather surprising to hear of her ruthlessness; he hadn't expected her to throw away her innate Gryffindor ways of justice for the sake of vengeance. But a lot of things happened between her sixth year and now. He hadn't exactly made small talk with her at the funerals and memorials.

He of course never attended the celebrations.

So the girl had turned from an insufferable know-it-all to insufferable bitch.

It was time to knock her down a peg or two. Time to show her where she stood exactly. What she had done for the order was nothing spectacular. Even the Weasley boys had proven more useful than her.

Perhaps that was it. Perhaps she felt that uselessness seep in; saw that she hadn't done enough to save her best friend. It was only understandable that she be disturbed.

But it didn't give the bitch the right to take away the lives of others. Yes, people had died, and Potter was among them. Yes, it was unfair that those who were supposed to live had died. But life was unfair, she ought to know that.

Severus was extremely interested in reminding her of that.

It was time to do the honors.


	4. Sticks and Stones

She didn't need to look up to know who was standing at her door, presumably seething – nothing new there – about the latest set of her pronouncements. If there was one person who wasn't afraid to question her, it was him. She had been expecting him sooner, but he had probably visited the Minister first.

Just to gauge how much help it would be; always the Slytherin.

"How may I help you," she asked politely, not looking up from her notes.

"Help, is perhaps required by you."

"Perhaps."

She heard the door being shut, and waited.

"Granger."

"Hmm? How may I help you, _Sir_?"

She could imagine the fury building in his eyes – they were always so expressive – and wondered how long it would take before the screaming began.

The office was filled with nothing more than the ticking of the clock, the crackling of firewood and the scratching of her quill.

Finally, she decided it was time to look up. She had finished with this set, and to be honest, she couldn't think as well as she would have liked with him present. She liked to be alone with her thoughts and he was not allowing that.

It was true that there was no noise from him – not a one.

She breathed in, let it out slowly, and then raised her eyes to find him, likely looking murderous.

He wasn't. Murderous, that is. Looked quite content actually, leaning against the wall as if he were at Hyde park, watching random people. It was a bit disconcerting, really.

"Yes, Professor?"

"I have not been a Professor for a while now, as you well know, and you haven't been my ward for even longer."

"You'll always be 'Professor' to me, Sir."

"Tell me Ms. Granger, do I bear the mark?"

"As everyone knows, you _did_ bear the mark."

He nodded. It was not going as he had expected; he was not sure of what to say, but damned if he let her know that – it would come to him.

"Yes, although it has faded to nothing more than a bit of scarred skin, you agree I was a death eater?"

Hermione flinched just a tiny bit.

"Yes."

"Then why?"

"Why what?"

"Why this…mindless cruelty?"

"And what they did was not?"

"What _we_ did wasn't. Not in the least," he paused, "why am I free then?"

This wasn't Snape; Snape wasn't calm and collected. Snape wouldn't try to reason with her as if she were not the ignorant little girl he considered her to be.

"I'm waiting, Ms. Granger."

"You're different. You were on our side."

"And you believed that, did you? Even when I murdered the Great Headmaster?"

Hermione flinched. "That was all part of the plan."

"Is this a part of the plan?"

"What?"

"You heard me – this insanity of yours…"

"I'm not insane! I…"

"Merely hand out irrational punishments to helpless people simply because you loathe them? My, my, Ms. Granger it sounds awfully like someone I knew."

There. That was the Snape she knew.

"I'm quite sure it sounds like an awful lot of people you know, _Professor_."

Of course he would smirk. "Indeed, Ms. Granger. Shall I proceed to list them. You might be surprised."

"Snape," she hissed, "if this is about your precious Slytherins…"

"It's always about _my_ precious Slytherins."

"It is, isn't it?"

He said nothing, just quirked an eyebrow and gestured for her to continue.

"They deserved it."

"And I don't?"

"What you believe you deserve is neither my concern, nor my place to show concern for."

"Ah, so it's just the ones who cannot speak against you, is it?"

"You know it isn't!"

He was in front of her in a flash, looming over the desk that separated them and she very nearly stumbled back into her own chair. Very nearly.

"Then What," he paused and she could feel the chill that had entered his voice, "is the reason for your pronouncements? You know very well that Draco and Parkinson and the rest had done nothing to warrant such punishment."

"My pronouncements shall not be questioned," she hissed back, "That was one of the conditions when I took up this task."

"Well, Granger," he straightened, and Hermione was temporarily dazed by the speed of his action, "You disappoint me."

That stung, and she didn't know why. "Pity," she shrugged, and proceeded to pick up another sheet, "if that is all…?"

But Snape had already left. She shut the door with a flourish and a satisfying bang. Warding it for good measure, she looked back at the page.

Her vision blurred and she chalked it up to exhaustion; she had to leave anyway. Pushing all thoughts of the surly man from her mind, she stepped into the floo. Tomorrow, she promised herself. Tomorrow she would take a break.


	5. Time to say goodbye

A/N: Sorry for the long wait and the short update. It'll get better, I promise.

"It's alright, I want this."

"How can you want it? What about all of us? Won't we…"

"It's not that I don't want to stay, but there's nothing that can be done, and…" he put up a hand to stall any protests, "and, if this is how its going to be, then it's best to get it over with."

Hermione looked into the tired and pleading eyes of her best friend, and couldn't stop the fresh wave of tears. "Harry," she choked.

"It's alright, Hermione," he smiled weakly; "I think I need a really long nap right now."

Molly Weasley burst into tears, quite vocally too, and Harry grimaced. "It's not any different from all those who we've already lost, y'know?" he tried to smile, but the corners of his lips barely rose.

One by one, they approached the Boy – Who – Vanquished – The – Dark – Lord, some even going to the extent of kissing his hand. If the situation weren't so grave, Hermione might have laughed at the unwitting comparison to The Godfather, or even the Papal respects. At this point, it only seemed fitting.

Eventually everyone left, and she could see that he barely had the strength to keep his eyes open. She and Ron shuffled closer to the bed, taking one of his hands in theirs. Ron held out his free hand, and Hermione took it, clinging on to it as if her life depended on that one action.

Harry smiled at their joined hands and huffed out, "About damn time, too."

"I want you to know that this is not your fault."

"Harry, please…"

"No," he said fiercely, and then continued in a softer tone, "It is not anyone's fault except that bastard who's a smouldering pile of ash somewhere in the great hall."

Ron's hold tightened and Hermione squeezed back in silent support.

"Anyway," Harry spoke, and sighed a little, "I want you to know that you two have been the best part of my life."

So short a life it was, Hermione thought, and sniffled a little.

"I love you both, and want to thank you for everything."

"Hey mate," Ron spoke softly, "it's us who should be thanking you."

Harry shrugged and breathed, "Everyone did their part, Ron, not just me."

No one objected that, and they were quiet for a few moments. Then Harry turned his eyes to Hermione.

"Tell Professor Snape thank you for me."

Ron's face flushed in anger, and Hermione quelled his impending explosion with a glare worthy of the infamous Professor himself. Harry chuckled weakly.

"Ron, he's as much a hero as anyone, even more," he smiled, "learn to let go, Ron."

Hermione couldn't help it; she threw herself on Harry and hugged him tightly. Ron followed her, and they stayed that way.

Sometime later, Hermione kissed the top of his head and whispered, "We love you too, you prat."

Harry only smiled and closed his eyes, "Good."

Hermione stared at the picture of the three of them, and cried. Seeing that degenerate lot in the courtroom today had more impact on her than she expected. Suddenly, she was so tired. Of everything.

She had expected that doling out judgment would help her feel better – with a sense of justice being held up, but it was far from it.

She knew that it was making her harder inside, and she couldn't be bothered to rein it in. Somehow she felt that Ron was better suited to this; Goodness knows he could hold on to a grudge forever.

Not her, she mused, it was drawing on her strength. It was drawing on her life. It was what had made her life with Ron unbearable. That, and the fact that every time she saw Ron, she couldn't help but remember Harry; it was a disaster. She suspected that their break up had hurt Ron more than it had her, but he seemed to be getting on with Lavender well enough.

She watched as the photo-Harry waved to her and gave her an impish grin, and a smile tugged at her mouth. It was not easy to have said goodbye to him, but it was time, she supposed.

Tomorrow she would talk to Arthur.


	6. The first step is not quitting

She was aware of Ron watching her over breakfast; it wasn't surprising anymore that he paid only a normal amount of attention to food rather than be consumed by it.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you it's rude to stare?" Hermione raised her eyes to Ron's and gave him a small smile.

Ron coloured and spooned some eggs into his mouth. Hermione winced as some specks flew out of his mouth as he chewed noisily. Ah well, some things never changed.

"Ron!" she snapped, "do keep your food to yourself – I have enough on my plate already!"

Ron swallowed with difficulty and wiped his mouth with a napkin. "Sorry 'Mione."

They turned back to their food, at least she did.

"Alright, What is it?" Hermione snapped and put her fork down, "Yes?" she prompted when Ron said nothing.

Ron took a deep breath – a sure sign that she wouldn't like where this was going, "it's about Malfoy."

Why was it always about that pointy faced prat? "What about him?" she asked carefully.

"Dad told me about what happened yesterday."

"And?" her patience was running thin, it seemed a lot thinner than it used to be.

"'Mione," Ron gestured helplessly, "please don't start yelling, do you promise to hear me out atleast?"

"I can try."

Ron seemed a little irritated by that, but said nothing for a minute. The he breathed deeply and started.

"I, well, we, think…"

"Who's 'we'?"

"Does it matter?" he snapped and then shook his head, "a bunch of us, Hermione."

She gestured for him to continue.

"Well," he rubbed the back of his neck, "we think you ought to re-consider your sentence."

"Pardon?"

"You heard me," Ron said quietly, "I'm guessing you know why."

"Enlighten me."

Ron growled softly and moved to get up, "If you have to be 'enlightened', then this is a waste of time."

She knew what he was saying, it didn't mean she had to listen or show that she understood, or even like it.

"You've changed Hermione, and not in a good way. Harry would have been disappointed in you."

"Harry," she hissed and slammed her hand into the table, "is dead! He isn't here! And unless he's a ghost, I don't see him around. Do you?"

"I miss him too, Hermione! But you don't see me being cruel do you?" Ron yelled and then realised what he had said. It showed on his face, the face that Hermione was staring at, unable to conceal the expression of pain on her face.

"I don't regret saying that Hermione," Ron continued and sat down, "it is the truth, and I think you needed to hear it. You're being cruel and unnecessarily so. I can't even recognise you, and even if Harry isn't here, he would have felt really bad at what you're doing. He hated Malfoy too, you know, but he would _never_ have done the same thing… even to Lucius."

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do," Ron said forcefully, "you can ask him yourself."

"No."

"You haven't been to see his portrait even once since…"

"Don't you think I know that?" She pushed away from the table and went to the window. There wasn't much to see outside, just the yard and the neighbours' houses beyond, but she couldn't look at him anymore.

She could hear the scrape of the chair as Ron pushed away and got up; his footsteps grew louder and she knew he'd stopped just behind her, but her vision had turned blurry again. Damned nonsense, she scrubbed at her eyes roughly.

"Stop it," Ron said softly and laid his hand on her shoulder. She shrugged it off, but he only brought both hands of his to her shoulders.

"Stop it, Ron," she muttered and tried to shrug him off again, but Ron held fast; she had forgotten how much stronger he was than her. In more ways than one.

It was stupid, she knew, it should have been the other way around. _She_ was supposed to be the sensible one!

Ron had forced her to turn around, but she resolutely looked away. She could deal with a belligerent or sulky Ron; she knew where she was with that, but this quiet and understanding Ron was something she could never get used to. It unnerved her.

"I know that you wish you could have done more then, Hermione, Merlin knows I wish I could have, but," he pushed a curl behind her ear and Hermione shook her head, dislodging it again, "it's too late, love. He's not coming back, and making others suffer for it won't bring him back."

"They all deserve to suffer."

"Maybe," Ron removed his hands from her shoulders and took her hands in his, "but I know not this way. I know you understand. You need to let go Hermione, and undo what you have done. You need wake up and see the damage you're doing."

"Why Ron?" she looked up at him, teary eyed, "why should I? They all did the worst kind of damage – Harry, and so many others died because of their stupidity!"

"Shush," he drew her into an embrace; Hermione briefly struggled against him and then succumbed to tears, sobbing into his chest while he shushed her.

"Why?" She asked into his shirt, "Why should we be the better people?"

"We aren't necessarily the better people, Hermione," she felt the words rumble in his chest, "but we can try."

"I can quit the panel. It would be the best thing to do."

"The first step is not quitting, Hermione. The first step is admitting you were wrong."

"But I never felt that way."

Ron huffed and pushed her away from his chest, "I know that, but you have to think about it and come to that conclusion. Honestly!" he grinned a little warily, "Do I have to do all the work around here?"

She punched his arm and grumbled, "I've never seen you do the dishes."

He smiled at her affectionately and Hermione felt a little confused, was she really that bad? She would have to think about it.

Later, she barely recollected how she had made it to her office, but a sense of unease settled into her as she closed the door behind her. It all suddenly seemed foreign to her – jamais vu – she thought.

It was more than a little disturbing. Glancing at the clock, she started – she'd been staring at nothing at all for over an hour. What was happening?

The first thing that sprang into her head was "Snape."

She didn't know why it had, but she felt the only thing she could do was talk to him. Shakily, she drew a parchment toward her and dipped her quill into the ink. Taking a deep breath, Hermione began to do what could possibly the most unusual thing she had done in a while.


End file.
